


Stitches

by booksaremyreality



Series: Teen Wolf/Vampire Diaries Crossover [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Gen, Grief, Hospitals, Injury, M/M, Sadness, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:23:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1684919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booksaremyreality/pseuds/booksaremyreality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suddenly he heard the cock of a hammer of a gun. God Stiles, no, he thought running up the stairs. Before Damon could get to him, he heard the pop of the revolver go off. The smell of blood hit his nose, instantly. There, in the large room was Stiles. A silver pistol in his right hand, eyes half closed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stitches

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Suicide

 

Wolf Boy

_How is he?_

_Not great ... how would you feel if you’re father died?_

_In a way... he did, sheriff was like a dad to me_

_how touching_

_it’s true... when do you think he’ll be ready to come home?_

_it’s a little soon to be asking that, don’t you think?_

_well just let him know when he wants to come home, we’re here for him_

_when? that’s a little definitive don’t you think?_

_when_

_whatever wolf boy_

 

Damon rolled his eyes, teenagers. Suddenly he heard the cock of a hammer of a gun. _God Stiles, no,_ he thought running up the stairs. Before Damon could get to him, he heard the pop of the revolver go off. The smell of blood hit his nose, instantly. There, in the large room was Stiles. A silver pistol in his right hand, eyes half closed. A circle of red blooming from the wound in his stomach. Damon dialed 911 while, kneeling over Stiles. He pressed a hand to the wound, attempting to stop the blood flow. Stiles whimpered, eyes fluttering, and tried to get away from the agonizing pressure. 

“You’re an idiot.” Damon hissed, pressing even harder. 

Blood was beginning to clog his mouth, wetting his pale, chalky lips. 

“I’ll finally get to see him again.” He whispered, a small smile spreading across his face. 

“Shut up.” Damon snapped. He could hear the ambulance sirens in the distance. “Just hold on, Stiles. Don’t die on me yet.” The crunch of gravel under rubber tire was just as loud as the shot of the gun. “I’m gonna have to carry you downstairs, okay? It’s gonna hurt. On three.” Stiles shook his head. 

“No, please, let me die.” He moaned. 

“Three.” Unfortunately to carry Stiles, Damon had to release the pressure on his wound, so when he lifted him in his arms, the blood began to flow again. Stiles cried out, baring his bloody teeth. His fingers scrambled desperately at Damon’s sleeve. 

“I know it hurts, I know.” Damon whispered, using his vampire speed to carry them down to the front door just as the EMT knocked. Damon switched his hold on Stiles and yanked the door open. 

“He’s got one gunshot wound to the abdomen, it’s still inside his body. Self-inflicted.” is voice cracked on the words _self-inflicted_. The EMT’s eyes softened, and he took Stiles from Damon’s arms, laying him on a gurney waiting next to him. 

“Please, just let me die!” Stiles moaned raggedly. “ _Please._ ” 

“No can do, kiddo.” Another EMT said, coming up beside him and slipping an oxygen mask over his mouth. Stiles turned his pleading eyes to Damon, who just grimaced. The EMT’s shouted a bunch of things to each other that meant almost nothing to Damon. 

“Well.” The man looked at him expectantly. “You coming?” Damon nodded curtly. 

The ride to the hospital was a blur of medical terms and loud noises. Stiles had passed out by the time they got there. Damon tried to follow them inside but a nurse stopped him saying that there were no unauthorized personnel allowed beyond that point. Damon slumped into a chair, heaving a sigh. He rubbed a hand over his face and pulled out his phone. He called the contact _Wolf Boy_ and waited for him to pick up. After several rings, he did. 

“Yeah?” Damon took a deep breath, knowing that the wolf pack would somehow blame him for this. Maybe it was his fault. 

“It’s Stiles.” 

* * *

 

Scott sat in the middle of the couch, squished between Isaac and Jackson, who had returned from London after six months of disgusting cold and rain. _Inception_ played on Lydia’s 65 inch TV. The rest of the pack was scattered in various places around the living room. His phone vibrated against his but from where it sat in his back pocket. Scott pulled it out, squinting at the bright screen. It was Damon. 

“Mute the movie.” Scott said to Lydia. That had gotten most of their attention. “Yeah?” He answered. 

“It’s Stiles.” Damon said shortly. Scott’s grip tightened on the phone. 

“What about Stiles?” He growled lowly. 

“He tried to kill himself.” Scott jerked, almost dropping the phone. The other werewolves couldn’t have heard Damon through the phone but they sensed that something was wrong. 

“What?” He choked. 

“He’s in the hospital right now. They’re operating on him. I don’t know anything else.” With that Damon hung up. 

“Scott.” Derek said slowly. “What’s wrong?” 

“It’s Stiles, he ... he.” Scott’s throat began to clog with tears and he wiped his eyes furiously as they began to fall out of his eyes. 

“Spit it out, McCall.” Jackson snapped. 

“He tried to kill himself.” A shocked silence came over the pack. Lydia gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. “He’s uh, he’s in the hospital right now. Damon said they’re operating on him but he doesn’t know anything else.” Scott heard the sound of fabric ripping and turned to see that Derek had dug his claws into the arm of the chair, tearing up the cotton stuffing from inside. 

“We should be there for him.” He growled. 

“We can’t.” Allison said softly. “He’s on the other side of the country and we’re just a bunch of teenagers. How are we supposed to get to him?”

“Well then he should be here.” Derek snapped, more out of frustration than pure anger. “Why did he leave us?”

“You know why, Derek.” Scott said shakily through his tears. “He couldn’t be here right now.”

* * *

Stiles woke up slowly. He didn’t open his eyes at first, shifting his legs around. Then he tried to move his arms only to find that they were chained to the bed. His eyes feel glued shut but he forces them open and looks down at the soft leather cuffs that locked him to the metal sides of the bed. 

“Careful, you’ll hurt yourself.” Stiles head snapped to the right where he heard the voice coming from, to see Damon sitting in a chair in the corner of the room.

“Let me go.” Stiles snarled, albeit weakly given his state.

“I didn’t put those on you. You’re on suicide watch.” Is all he said. 

“Well you’re a vampire aren’t you! Just break the damn things and get me out of here.” Stiles yanked at the cuffs hard enough to force the bones in his wrist to grind together. Damon ignored him and instead said, “I think you should go home, back to Beacon Hills.” Stiles’ head snapped up from where he was struggling with his cuffs. 

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” He almost cried. He felt like crying again but he was all out of tears. 

“Stiles, you’re jumping to conclusions!” Damon snapped, pushing himself up from the chair and coming over to his side. “I’ve been in contact with your friend Scott and he said that his mother has arranged the funeral, all you have to do is show up.” Stiles was silent for a long moment. 

“Fine.” He said shortly. “When is it?” 

“Two days from now.” 

“They won’t let me out of the hospital, I’m on suicide watch, remember?” Stiles sneered. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out.” Damon leaned down to give him a kiss but Stiles turned his head so his lips landed on his cheek instead. He gave him one more kiss on the corner of his mouth, sighed and left the hospital room. 

Stiles spends that day being fed nutrients through a tube in his arm and watching lacrosse on the small television hanging in the top right corner. Damon and Elena came by to visit for a little bit but Damon was mostly absent that day. Stiles didn’t realize he had fallen asleep until someone was gently shaking him awake.

“Mr. Stilinski?” It was a female nurse. “Mr. Salvatore has asked me to wake you and bring you outside.” Stiles’ eyes felt like they were glued shut, eyelashes tacky. The nurse helped him sit up and he winced as the stitches in his gut pulled. There was a wheelchair on the right side of the hospital bed and Stiles unconsciously scrunched up his face. 

“I don’t need a wheelchair, I can walk just fine.” Instead of protesting the nurse simply helped Stiles to his feet. He took one step and gasped as a throbbing agony shot through his entire body. His knees buckled but the nurse was apparently ready for this because she caught him quickly and maneuvered him into the wheelchair. “Okay, maybe I do need a wheelchair.” Stiles panted. 

The nurse wheeled him out to the front of the hospital where Damon was waiting with a car ready to take him to the airport. He and Damon didn’t talk in the car but he still wrapped his arm arounds Stiles’ shoulders and pulled him into his side. The journey through the airport was a slow and painful one. His stomach throbbed despite the pain medication that the nurse gave him before he left. Stiles was relieved when they finally boarded the plane and took their seats. 

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Damon asked lowly, after the flight had taken off. “We have a couple hours.” 

“Sure, what do they have?” _Fight Club, Divergent, The Godfather,  and Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. There were some other independent and foreign films but Stiles simply picked _The Godfather_ even though the had seen it with Scott multiple times. When the movie ended he tried to nap on Damon’s shoulder but the pain kept him awake. 

The pack surprised Stiles by meeting them at the airport. They crowded around him, pushing Damon out of the way and wrapping their overheated bodies around him. Stiles broke away gently and told them that he would meet them at Derek’s house. Driving past the familiar shops and buildings made him incredibly nostalgic even though he was just there a few days ago. He felt like an old man reliving all of his memories. Damon checked them into a Holiday Inn, hustling Stiles into a room before he had a complete breakdown. Stiles was out of tears but that didn’t stop his hands from shaking wildly and his breaths from rattling in his ribcage. For once Damon looked unsure of what to do, hands hovering uselessly around Stiles’ body.

“What do I do, Stiles? Tell me what to do?” 

“Kiss me.” Stiles gasped. Damon framed his face with his cold hands, pressing his lips to Stiles’. Stiles’ lips were fast and frantic, all teeth. Damon tried to slow him down, stroking his top lip with his tongue. Stiles began to reach for Damon’s pants but he stopped him. 

“Stiles, don’t.” 

“Please, Damon.” 

“No, you’re grieving because your father has just died. You’re not acting rational right now.” Stiles shoved at Damon’s chest, stumbling back himself.

“Don’t tell me I’m not acting rational!” He screamed. Stiles grabbed the nearest thing, which happened to be a glass on the nightstand, hurling it at Damon with all his might. Damon dodged easily, moving towards Stiles. 

“Do you feel better now?” Stiles growled inhumanly and picked up the bible that was also on the nightstand, chucking it with both his hands. This thing, Damon caught.

“Now that’s not very nice.” He flashed forward, grabbing Stiles’ wrist before he could throw anything else. Stiles was breathing hard now, all that movement had aggravated his stomach wound which had began bleeding again. 

“Look what you’ve done.” Damon clicked his tongue, making Stiles sit down on the bed. He looked through his suitcase, grabbing what looked like a med kit. “Take your shirt off.” Damon commanded. 

“I can’t life my arms.” Stiles mumbled. 

“What was that?” Damon asked, even though he heard him perfectly.

“I said I can’t lift my arms okay? You don’t have to be a dick and rub it in, Damon.” Damon maneuvered the shirt over his head in such a way that Stiles wouldn’t have to lift his arms to get it off. The white bandage was stained crimson and Damon’s gums ached faintly. Stiles hissed lowly as Damon pulled the sticky bandage from the wound and applied a creme that the doctor gave them before they left Virginia. 

After Damon finished, they both got ready for bed. Stiles opted out of a shirt and pants, sleeping only in his boxers. Stiles couldn’t sleep on his side so Damon curled up next to him, slipping his arm under his neck and his other over his waist. 

“I’m sorry.” Stiles whispered. Damon shifted up and kissed his neck. 

“It’s okay.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> constructive criticism welcome!


End file.
